


Snowpocalypse

by merisunshine36



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-06
Updated: 2010-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-07 01:40:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merisunshine36/pseuds/merisunshine36
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first fieldwork assignment for all Starfleet cadets is at the site of the Snowpocalypse, an early 21st century natural disaster that resulted in the disappearance of millions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowpocalypse

**Author's Note:**

> Written in commemoration of the giant snowstorms that blasted the mid-atlantic region of the United States in February 2010.

"Apparently, it resulted in the disappearance of millions of Americans," Uhura says, eyes glued to her tricorder.

Kirk snorts loudly from his current position balancing precariously on the edge of a crumbling sidewalk, arms flung out to either side, forehead wrinkled in concentration.

"Snowpocalypse, my ass. I learned how to tunnel my way out of the snow when I was five. Something else caused that disappearance, and I'm gonna find out what it was."

"You are so full of it, Kirk. It hasn't snowed more than 37 centimeters in Iowa since 2157." Uhura steps carefully around the potholes in the road. "No one was ever seen again, after this. They were buried in over 160 centimeters of snow, and when it melted...everyone was gone."

The city is largely intact. Withered trees stand sentinel along the sidewalks in front of abandoned buildings, long-faded posters curl in the shop windows. Tattered flags hang limply from dead lightposts with peeling green paint.

A few decades after the disaster, people tried to rebuild. But every business failed, every plant withered, and in time, the ever-present babble of the rivers faded first to a whisper, then to nothing.

Philadelphia, it had been called.

The dry, cold air smells faintly metallic; the faintest suggestion of a breeze plays in Uhura's hair.

"You'd think there would be bodies, you know," Kirk wonders aloud.

Uhura scowls. "Don't be morbid."

She ducks inside what looks like an abandoned store. Kirk follows. Her gaze falls on a pile of newspapers in a rack against the wall. "Two Feet Expected as Great Wall of White Advances on the Region," the headline blares.

"Two feet, that's," she does the calculations in her head, "about sixty centimeters?"

"Come on, that was an easy one. I bet you don't know how many liters are in a peck," Kirk challenges.

"That's a trick question," she shoots back, her expression smug. "The peck was a measure of mass rather than of volume. But just in case you wondered, it was nine liters in the case of wheat, peas, and beans; thirteen in the case of barley, oats and malt."

Kirk's mouth falls open softly in surprise. Uhura bumps him with her shoulder, grinning, and pushes deeper into the store.

A small amount of sunlight has fought its way through the dirty windows, casting everything in dim and dusty relief. Shelves stripped bare of whatever stock they once held had been knocked from their supports, now tilting angrily to one side. A pile of white crystals spilled from a bag on the ground labeled "DOWFLAKE".

"What's that?" Kirk points to a red scrap of material buried among the crystals. He reaches out for it, only to have Uhura swat his hand away at the last moment.

"Don't touch it, you idiot. It could be dangerous." She snatches it up with the pair of forceps from her field kit, the metal shiny against the faded material as she drops it into a specimen bag.

They lean in to observe their find, using the excuse of research to huddle closer to one another.

"I think it's a mitten," Kirk says slowly. "Handmade. The thumb is missing."

"It's so tiny." Uhura runs her fingers over the fabric beneath the plastic, as if she could read the story of its owner through the bumps and twists in the weave.

Kirk rises to his feet, his expression inscrutable, hands now stuffed into the pockets of his coat. Uhura regrets the loss of his warmth.

"Let's get out of here," he says. "We still have to collect plant and soil specimens before we can head back to the shuttle."

Without waiting for her, he picks his way back out of the store, stepping over small piles of debris along the way. Broken shovels, old magazines.

Uhura sighs, then scoops a small amount of the strange white crystals into her bag for later study.

"Hey Kirk, wait up," she calls, putting the strap of her tricorder back over her shoulder, "if you get lost here, I am so not going to be the one who tells McCoy."

A faint smile has returned to his eyes as he waits her for in the doorway. They make their way back out into the world, together.


End file.
